The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial ones which will give him no pain or trouble.
Henry MillerAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer, Painter
- Nationality: american
- Born: December 26, 1891
- Died: June 7, 1980
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But most of all, I like to watch people. Sometimes I ride the subway all day and look at them and listen to them. I just want to figure out who they are and what they want and where they are going. Sometimes I even go to Fun parks and ride in the jet cars when they race on the edge of town at midnight and the police don't care as long as they're insured. As long as everyone has ten thousand insurance everyone's happy. Sometimes I sneak around and listen in subways. Or I listen at soda...
Ray Bradbury
But “nowhere” does not mean nothing; rather, region in general lies therein, and disclosedness of the world in general for essentially spatial being-in. Therefore, what is threatening cannot come closer from a definite direction within nearness, it is already “there” - and yet nowhere. It is so near that it is oppressive and takes one’s breath - and yet it is nowhere.
Martin Heidegger
What do you mean, 'playing really creatively'? Can you give me an example?"Hmm, let's see ... you send the music deep enough into your heart so that it makes your body undergo a kind of a physical shift, and simultaneously the listener's body also undergoes the same kind of physical shift. It's giving birth to that kind of shared state. Probably.
Haruki Murakami
One of the most widespread superstitions is that
every man has his own special, definite qualities; that a
man is kind, cruel, wise, stupid, energetic, apathetic, etc.
Men are not like that . . . Men are like rivers; the water is
the same in each, and alike in all; but every river is narrow
here, is more rapid there, here slower, there broader, now
clear, now cold, now dull, now warm. It is the same with
men. Every man carries in himself the germs of every
human quality and sometimes one...
Leo Tolstoy